


unsaid.

by shariling



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We weren't together."</p><p>No, they weren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unsaid.

**Author's Note:**

> "i need like hartley in the alt universe finding out about cisco's death"
> 
> you ask, i deliver. come say hi on [tumblr.](http://enjolrased.tumblr.com/)

It's not that he never cared.

It's definitely not that because -- because he _does_ , more than he could possibly ever say, but of course the realization comes too little too late, and it's lonely, and Hartley is stuck staring at his hands with tears in his eyes, remembering a year ago when Cisco occupied now bare fingers with -- life. Bare hips and folded fingers, quiet words that still go unsaid. Hartley misses the little things, the big things, he misses _Cisco_ the way he misses his father or the way he misses the way Wells was, he misses him like he misses air that didn't get choked in his throat, or the way he misses his own eyes when they weren't so sore from crying, red around the edges.

But he's not a child. He doesn't have to sit and cry, he can take action.

 _It's not important_.

"It is." Hartley is sad, of course, but moreover he's _angry_ \-- he knows who Wells really is. He knows what he did. He knows that while the world will never recognize him as a hero, he _is_ someone who seeks justice.

_No one has to die, dude._

"You did."

_Yeah, and it was super uncool._

" _Uncool_ ," he hisses, empty hands full of the memory of amber twinged skin, ghostly touches across his palm that _almost_ seemed real, but couldn't be, it couldn't be. "He murdered you."

_And somehow that involves you, Hartley?_

"Are you joking? Of _course_ it -- "

_We weren't together._

We weren't together.

No, they weren't. Often times they were further apart than people across country, too different in their ideals and thoughts and morals, that clashing bodies alike fought in strained words, angry arguments over little things. And yet, and still, there was -- _them_ , not in the literal sense, but the idea. There were kisses in closed closets, and rough touches up against bedroom walls, hands grabbing and pulling and _desperate_ , Hartley thinks, at least his were. To feel anything, to feel _Cisco_ , warm like the sun in a mockery of what his personality was like -- too kind, too gentle, too unlike Hartley for him to ever understand. Yet --

He sobs.

"I'm sorry." It's choked, ugly, drowned out in emotion while Hartley tosses his head in his ( cold, empty, barren ) hands, fingers clawing at his hair. "I'm sorry, Paco, _lo siento_."

_A mi tambien, Hart. I'm sorry for you._

"I messed up."

_Can't deny that._

"I'm messed up."

_Yeah._

"I didn't want to hurt you."

There's a ghostly, nonexistent laugh that comes from beyond the grave, something sarcastic and full of a bounty of lost hope. Intangible, dead, dying, dead, did Wells even care? Did he think about Cisco's effect on people? Did he _know_ who loved him?

_Screwed that one up, huh._

"I didn't want to hurt you," he repeats, screaming into his hands, he didn't, he didn't, that's never what he wanted. "I didn't want anyone to hurt you."

_The Flash protected me._

"And I didn't."

_And you didn't._

He left.

_You left._

"Yeah," he chokes on it again, releasing a laugh through heavy breaths that taste like blood and tears. "I wasn't any good for you."

_That's for you to decide?_

"No."

_No. I wanted you._

He sobs, make the memories stop, the ghosts, the life, anything, just turn his head off _turn it off_.

"I know -- I know."

_You did?_

"Yeah I -- I wanted you too. I want you now."

_Should've told me that ages ago, Hart. Kinda hard for it now._

"I know. I'm too late."

_Like, a year too late, man. I tried to move on._

" _So did I_ ," he hisses, fingers ripping hair out of his head, _why does his voice still sound so clear, so vivid, he wants to forget, forget, forget._ "I'm trying now."

_Sorry if this makes me a jerk, but I'm kind of enjoying your misery right now._

"Yeah."

_You fucked me up._

"I didn't mean to."

_That supposed to make it okay? Because it doesn't._

"I know. I just -- " He _just_. "I should have told you."

_Before you left._

"Before I left."

_Too late now, I guess. We've been fucked for a long time._

"I know," he says, he knows, he knows, everything he touches turns to ruin, he should have never laid a finger on Cisco in the first place. "I'll kill him."

 _Hartley_.

"I'll kill him."

_Hart, no. Trust me, I'm probably the one most upset about this turn of events but. Let Barry handle it._

"If you know anything about me, you know I won't listen to you."

_Yeah, fuck you man, you never listen._

"It's part of my -- " he sniffs, loudly, bringing his arm over to wipe his nose. He hasn't cried since he was a child. " -- charm."

_Yeah, right. I fucking hate it about you._

"You hate everything about me."

_Not everything._

"No?"

_No. I've seen you -- I don't know, when you're vulnerable. When you're less of a dick. That's the part of you that I --_

"Don't, please," he whispers, curling into himself. "Don't say it."

_Not entitled to my feelings now?_

"Don't do this. It's not --"

_Fair? No, it's not. But you have to deal with it._

"Cisco -- "

_I was in love with you. I would have followed you anywhere._

"Please stop."

_No. You're too late, and I'm too late, and I love you, you absolute douchebag._

" _You shouldn't_."

_Think I don't know that? You're a trip, man. Maybe I'm a masochist, because I love such a dick. But -- I guess a dead guy's love isn't all that important._

"It's important." It is, it is, it is, _they could have been happy._ "It's important, it's important."

He pretends like he can feel a hand at the lower of his back, comforting and warm, though he really can't and he knows there's nothing there, because anything willing to touch him would have a hard hand and a sharp tongue, except for Cisco.

_Say it back._

"No."

_C'mon, dude. Don't I deserve that much?_

"I can't, I can't." He can't, he doesn't even know what love _is_. "You're dead, Paco. You're not here right now. I'm hallucinating because I'm _that_ hung up on you. That doesn't say enough?"

_No, it really doesn't. Say it._

"Please."

_Do you regret never telling me?_

"I -- " _Does he_? He's not sure himself -- he regrets starting the strange relationship with Cisco, of course, regrets ruining the one bit of good in his life. "I regret leaving."

_What would you have done if you didn't?_

"I would have told you," he whispers to nothing and no one, to the sky and the wind listening in through the open window, a lonely boy talking to a lost lover in the dead of night, planning revenge like it's the only thing he knows. Because it is. "I would have told you that I love you, Paco. I do. And I'm sorry, and -- "

He expects an interruption, a kiss of the lips and a hand on his knee but there's nothing and there's no one. Because there never was and there never will be.

Cisco is dead, after all, and he's not sure what he expected. Words have a terrible habit of being unable to take away once they're said out loud and -- he loves him, a dead man, a man who Eobard Thawne killed, who Hartley will murder with his teeth and hands and scream in his ears _why_. Rapture his ear drum. Slice his throat, let him bleed on the cobblestone in an alley of Central City, let him rot away in some dumpster like the filth he is because out of _anyone_ , Cisco least deserved to die. He was guiltless, he was innocent, he was good.

Hartley stands, tears dried on his cheeks, hands empty as they ever were until he grabs a gun from his collection.

_Brutal, barbaric._

But that's fine, because he isn't playing a game of chess anymore. He's hungry for blood, and he'll have it. For Cisco.

_For Cisco._

He leaves his house, and drops the memory of Paco behind him.


End file.
